Atlanta Burning
by Boreas442
Summary: After escaping Hershel's farm, out of food and ammo, it proves too difficult to make it out in the woods. Knowing that the upcoming winter is more likely to kill them than walkers, Rick decides to take the group back to Atlanta to search for much needed supplies. They'll soon find that the city isn't the same as it was when they last visited. At least part of it isn't.


**Atlanta Burning**

**1.** Necessities

Rick sat and watched as the last embers of the fire died out. He knew he should've put more wood on about an hour ago, but he was too weak. Too weak to go and look for any, too weak to get up and too weak to care. They must've come across half a dozen small settlements and towns since leaving Hershel's farm eight days ago, none of which had any food left. Either because they already had been raided by others or because whatever was left wasn't edible anymore. And what little food they brought with them only lasted five days, most of which was rationed out to Lori, Carl and Beth. Maybe this was their end, after all the hell they had been through, a silent, calm death by a fire didn't seem all that bad. Rick didn't mind much.

"No!" he thought and slowly got to his feet. Steadying himself on the rock he had been sitting against for the last few hours. If Daryl had it in him to go hunting one more time, _he_ could certainly get some firewood. He had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the faint morning light, but quickly found the small pile of wood he gathered up the night before, he had almost forgotten about it.

He broke some branches over his knee and put them, along with some straw, on the campfire, sat down and tried to blow some life back into the dying embers. It didn't take much for the dry wood to catch light and in less than a minute, the fire was roaring again.

Rick got back up, took a deep breath and stared into the dark woods in front of him. He suddenly noticed that Carol was looking at him, not a very nice look he thought, but he gave her a little smile back. He knew instantly that it didn't come of very sincere.

"Where's Daryl?" she asked, almost whispering. Rick then suddenly realized that it had been almost a day since Daryl went to hunt. "He should've been back hours ago", he said. Just as that thought hit him he heard a twig crack in the woods, not far from them, maybe 50 feet. He peered into the darkness hoping to see Daryl, but felt his heart sink as he saw the figure in front of him. The ripped clothes, the pale skin and the eyes, lifeless grey eyes, the first walker he had seen in two days. Rick got his gun out of the holster, forgetting for a second that he had run out of bullets days ago. He knew he had to beat this one to death, but also knew that he probably didn't have the strength it took to do it. The walker slowly approached him and for the first time since the escape from the farm Rick felt scared. Stone cold terrified.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower, warm water slithered down his back, chest and legs and on to the floor, making trail behind him as he walked toward the sink. He wiped the steam off of the mirror, took his toothbrush, dipped it in a glass of cold water and put toothpaste on it. He had really come to enjoy these small, rather insignificant routines, like showering and brushing his teeth; he imagined them helping him keep his sanity. He spat a mouthful of white minty toothpaste down into the dry sink and poured the remaining water in with, "all cleaned up" he said, smiling.

He got a clean pair of jeans out of his closet, the shirt he ironed the day before and his boots and put them on. Then he took his keys and his key card chain off the nail in the wall next to the fridge, the keys he hooked on to his belt hoop, the chain went around his neck. He walked down the stairs to the basement and stood in front of the massive steel door. He swiped the key card through a slit in a control panel next to the door and it instantly lit up. The screen on the panel showed the outline of a palm, he put his on it and waited for the beep. The beep came and the screen now turned in to a numeric panel. He typed in the code, 1837. A loud knock came from within the walls around the door and he saw the wheel on the door loosen up. He turned it and pulled the door open.

The room was maybe 500 square feet and when they found it, it was full of filing cabinets. He remembered they spent an entire day cleaning it out. That day was probably the last time they had fun together. Not that they thought the manual labor was any fun, but it was a break away from what they normally did; killing things which used to be people. It may have taken just a day to clean it out, but they had spent more than a month filling it up again.

The left wall of the room was lined with freezer cabinets, more than they had needed really. Some of them were still empty. The farthest wall, which was the longest, was lined with shelves full of canned foods. The rest of the floor space was the same, full of shelves filled with long lasting dry goods, bottled water, tools, batteries and other useful things. Like a grocery store he thought, his very own K-Mart or something.

The only thing not adding to this illusion was the wall on the right. This was covered with an arsenal big enough to equip quite a sizable army. "The bare necessities in a world like this" he thought as he scoured the room. He walked over to a small table where he picked up the weapons he had put down there last night. The Sig SG rifle with foregrips and suppressor, two model 1911's Kimber Customs, also with suppressors, and his machete which he had nicknamed "Arlene". He even went so far as to engrave it in the blade.

Before he exited the room he looked at the huge banner he had hanged above the weapon racks and read out loud, "Whatever you need, we got it". He would've said it with more pride, but this impressive stockpile had come with a high price. Not so high that he wouldn't pay it again, but too high to take any pride in knowing that he had it and what he had to do to keep it.

He turned around and walked out of the room. Pushed the door shut and turned the wheel. Swiped his key card through the slit, the control panel dimmed down and he heard the bolts in the door plant themselves into the wall. He went up the stairs to the sixth floor and walked to the open window, grabbed the handlebars hanging above him and looked out at the world. The sun was rising and a crisp morning breeze hit his face, "a beautiful day today" he thought. Then he jumped out.

Rick stood frozen, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the gun harder and harder. The walker shuffled its feet as it made its way toward him, stretched out its arms and made that dry scratching noise in its throat. Rick hated that noise almost as much as he hated the walker itself, almost.

Carol could see in Ricks face what he was looking at, normally she would start running or screaming about now, but she was too weak to do anything. Rick's eyes met hers briefly, she looked for reassurance in them, but she didn't find any. That scared her more than knowing that a walker was coming up behind her.

This particular walker couldn't have been more than 16 or 17 years old when he, "_it"_ was bit, Rick thought. "What a waste" he whispered. As he was about to raise his hand, ready to strike, the walker stopped, went silent and looked at him for a few seconds, and what Rick saw in the walkers eyes he could only describe in _one_ word; thinking. "That's not possible" Rick muttered, shocked.

The walker then looked to its right where a young boy was sleeping. The walker studied Carl lying there, more specifically Carl's hand. Rick saw it too and remembered that Carl had cut his hand the night before helping him with the firewood. It was the smell of blood that made the walker suddenly stop. It then proceeded to go towards Carl, the scratching noise resumed.

"No!" Rick shouted as he bolted towards the walker, raising his hand. The commotion woke everybody else up and they all leapt to their feet. Lori saw what was happening and screamed Carl's name. "Help him Rick!" she pleaded.

The panic in Rick's eyes now turned to resolve, this was what Carol had been looking for and now she got on her feet as well. Rick jumped over the campfire just as the walker fell over Carl. It had nearly sunk its teeth into Carl's shoulder when Rick swung his arm as hard as he could and the barrel of his revolver hit the walker's forehead. With a loud dry cracking sound the forehead split open and the walker fell to the ground. Rick looked at the walker to make sure it wouldn't get up again. No movement, "Thank God!" he exclaimed.

"Everybody alright?" Daryl said as he came into the clearing, making everybody jump in fright. "Don't do that!" said Carol smiling, "Where the hell have you been?" she continued. Daryl then showed them the two red foxes he had killed, threw them on the ground and said proudly, "Dinner".

As they ate the foxes, gleefully, Rick sat in deep thought. He knew they couldn't keep this up much longer. They were out of ammo, out of energy and soon out of fuel for the cars. If they were going to survive the winter they had to take a risk. One he had a hard time accepting that he had to put the others through. He knew how dangerous it was, but also how necessary.

"We have to go back to the city" he said calmly, "Back to Atlanta". They all turned and looked at him, he could see the question in their eyes; "Are you out of your mind?" "Who?" asked Lori. "Everybody" Rick replied. That final statement didn't help much he realized and stood up.

"Look, we're dying out here! There's no food, no shelter, we're out of ammo and out of options." He used his new authoritarian voice that he found the night they left the farm. "It's the only choice we have left and I'm not askin', I'm tellin'!"

A couple of hours later the cars were packed and everybody was ready to go, reluctantly.

Hershel walked up to Rick as he was stomping out the embers of the campfire. "You sure this is the right thing to do, Rick?" he asked in his kind, but stern voice. "I mean, I could understand sending in two or three people to try and go undetected in and out, but putting everybody in harms way appears to me as being desperate. Especially when we don't know if there's anything to find." Rick looked at him and he understood what he meant, normally he would've agreed too. Rick put his arm on Hershel's shoulder and said, "We can't split up, not in the state we're in. One group wouldn't be strong enough on its own to fight off any walkers, neither here or in the city. Besides, there's only enough fuel in each vehicle to go one way. Splitting up would mean that we'd might have to walk back or leave one group out here without any transportation." Rick looked Hershel in the eye, "Trust me Hershel, we _have_ to do this. Like I said, we're out of fuel, ammo, food, everything, and we can't afford to stay here anymore. I'm not acting out of fear or desperation, I'm acting out of necessity. We _need_ to go".


End file.
